


Searching

by MosukeHinata



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/F, F/M, Femslash, M/M, Mentally-Unstable!Petunia Dursley, Nice!Vernon Dursley, Not-Completely-Evil!Tom RIddle, Ravenclaw!Harry Potter, Slash, manipulative!Dumbledore
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-09-10
Updated: 2013-09-10
Packaged: 2017-12-26 06:16:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,782
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/962587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MosukeHinata/pseuds/MosukeHinata
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dudley Dursley dies at birth, leaving his mother deeply distraught. She’s in and out of therapy to cope. When Harry Potter winds up on their doorstep, Vernon is left to take care of him. Dumbledore is left to deal with a Potter who will stop at nothing to find a way to help his uncle help his wife.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Tragedy Strikes

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.

Vernon Dursley was a very happy man as he got in his car after a hard day’s work at Grunnings. He straightened his tie before starting the car. Not ten minutes previous, he got a call from the East Surrey Hospital telling him his wife had been admitted, and she had gone into labor. His son was finally being born!

He’d soon have a son who he could teach and have follow in his footsteps, a son who will love him unconditionally and go to Smeltings, just like he had.

He quickly arrived at the hospital and headed up to the receptionist’s desk. “Vernon Dursley to see Petunia Dursley, please,” he said respectfully. He could imagine the sheer about of people disrespecting these people.

The woman searched on her computer and turned to him. “I’m sorry, but it appears that she’s in surgery right now. I can give you the floor, but I’m going to have to ask you to stay in the waiting room.”

Vernon frowned. He felt dread settling deep in his stomach. “S-surgery?” he gulped. “W-why on earth would she need that? She was giving birth.”

The woman suddenly gave him a pitying look. “Yes, she was admitted for that, but it appears there have been complications.”

“Complications? What kind of complications?” he asked quickly.

“I can’t say at this time, sir,” she said lightly. Vernon gulped, wondering what was wrong with his wife. “She’s on the first floor, sir, so just head up the stairs down the hall, please.”

Looking extremely pale, Vernon followed her direction and headed down the hall and up the stairs. Once on the first floor, Vernon headed up to this receptionist.  “Excuse me, ma’am,” he said to get her attention.

She looked up. She had bags under her eyes. She took a deep breath and said, “How may I help you, sir?”

“I’m here to see my wife, Petunia Dursley. My name is Vernon Dursley.”

She nodded and checked her computer. Apparently, whatever she found wasn’t good because she paled. “Um…c-could you p-please take a seat. I-I’ll inform you w-when she’s out of surgery and you c-can see her,” she stammered, not looking back up at Vernon.

Vernon, feeling like he would vomit, hobbled to a chair and heavily sat down. His shoulders slumped and he closed his eyes. What was happening to his wife? What happened during the birth? Why is she in surgery?

Trying to distract his painful thoughts, Vernon looked around the room. He nearly turned a ruddy color as he noted that nearly everyone in there, aside from the heavily pregnant women, was stick thin. He glanced down at himself. He could do to lose a _few_ pounds.

“Mr. Dursley,” a male voice called. Vernon looked up sharply. His eyes landed on a man in a pristine, white lab coat. It was a little _too_ pristine.

“That’s me, sir,” he said, getting up.

The man’s face was grave. “I’m truly sorry, sir, but there were complications.”

“Yes, I was told that,” Vernon said nervously. “But what _were_ they.”

“We don’t know,” the doctor admitted. “You can go see your wife shortly; she’ll be fine after a few days of observation and a couple weeks on the prescription we’ll be supplying her before she leaves.”

Vernon almost didn’t want to ask, but he _had_ to know, “And my son? When can I see him?”

 The doctor closed his eyes and sighed. “I’m sorry sir, but your son didn’t make it.” Vernon simply stared at the man, looking horrified. “I can lead you to your wife,” he said, turning and leading Vernon down the hallway.

* * *

 “This way, Petunia. That’s right, watch your step, Pet,” Vernon said, leading his wife up their drive to their house, Number 4 Privet Drive. She had finally been released from the hospital, and Vernon was allowed to bring her back home.

Sadly, she hadn’t said a word since she was told that their son, Dudley would have been his name, hadn’t made it. She just stared out into the distance, not really seeing what’s in front of her.

Vernon guided her to their bedroom and let her lie down on the bed. He headed to the kitchen, extremely distraught. What could he do to help his lovely wife? He quickly made some tea and sat down in the living room. He noticed the phone book sitting on the table.

He knew his wife needed counseling, but he didn’t want to send her. He didn’t really want to admit that things weren’t okay. He sighed. That was selfish of him, so he decided he couldn’t just let her suffer.

He grabbed the book and opened it. He flipped through it, wondering what section it would be under. He paused when reaching a list of local therapists. He never liked the idea of people like them. He didn’t like the thought of people getting into your head and messing with it, but he figured he’d make an exception in this case. His wife’s mind was at stake.

He sighed and dialed the number of the first one, hoping they could actually help.

* * *

 It was well over a year now since Dudley Dursley died at birth. Petunia still wasn’t anywhere near close to being back to her usual self, but she spoke now. Vernon counted that as a huge improvement; he had been starting to miss her voice.

According to her therapist, she believed Dudley to be alive and well. She simply believes that he is a very special, but very ill child. Just the other night, Vernon listened to her worry about when her ‘Duddikins’ will be released from the hospital.

Vernon was very worried; the doctors said there was no cure to her trauma but time. The therapist told him to just play along with her stories because they helped her cope. Vernon couldn’t see how having his wife speak about their dead son as though he were alive was helping her, but he couldn’t argue with someone who had a special degree.

Sometimes, it would seem like things were working because there were a few times Petunia had moments of clarity.

Vernon helped his wife into his car to take her to her session before he headed to work. He barely sent a glance at a tabby cat sitting on the corner of Privet Drive and looking at the sign. Quickly sending his wife off, Vernon went on his way to work. He curiously eyed the men and women wearing strange clothes all throughout the city. They were standing in little groups, chattering excitedly.

Was there a convention nearby?

Deciding to ignore it, Vernon set off to finish his day. He couldn’t help but think that he was missing something important. The style of clothing was eerily familiar. He could remember _someone_ had described them to him before, but he couldn’t remember who or why.

The day went off without a hitch. He had decided against getting something from the bakery, committing to losing those few pounds he had decided to do the previous year. On his way back home, Vernon picked up his wife. As he drove, she prattled on and on about how she simply couldn’t wait for Dudders to get home.

Curiously, the cat from that morning was still there. Vernon decided to ignore it and helped his wife inside. He and Petunia went to bed oblivious to what was going on right on their doorstep.

* * *

 The next morning, Vernon got up early as he was wont to do as of late. He went downstairs and opened the door to get the morning paper. He froze as he spied not only the paper, but an infant wrapped in a blanket. “What in the world?” he breathed out in horror. Who in their right mind would leave a child on someone’s doorstep at the beginning of November?

It was getting chilly out and, not knowing how long the poor child had been out in the cold, Vernon picked it up with the paper. “Now, why are you here?” he asked the boy, assuming as such due to the blue blanket.

Surprisingly, the child wasn’t nearly as cold as Vernon would have thought.

“Vernon, who’s that you’ve got there?”

Vernon looked up sharply. Petunia was staring at the child in her husband’s arms. “I’m not sure, Pet,” Vernon said, looking back down at the boy with a frown. “He was on our doorstep when I got the paper.”

Petunia walked up to him and grabbed a letter that was tucked into the blanket. “Have you read this?” she asked, eyeing the boy. He looked so familiar. Petunia, recognizing a moment of clarity decided to utilize it. She had no idea when she would go back to thinking Dudley was still with her, but she decided that she needed to help her husband solve this mystery.

She opened the letter and read aloud:

_“Petunia Dursley,_

_“It is my duty to inform you that your sister, Lily Potter, has reached an unfortunate end.”_ Petunia paused and anguish filled her. Lily was dead? She mentally shook her head and continued, _“This boy is her son, Harry Potter. Both his parents are dead and you, as his only living relative, must take him in. It is this boy’s fault his parents are dead. An evil wizard attacked them to kill this boy, but his parents gave up their lives to protect him. Keep him ignorant of the magical world and do your best to beat and belittle him. He did kill your only sister after all. His magical ability has already been proven. He hast the gift you’ve always wanted but could never have. I leave his less-than-nurturing care in your capable hands_

_“Albus Dumbledore.”_

Petunia looked up at Vernon in shock. “He wants us to beat an infant?” Vernon spluttered. “And what’s all that garbage about a one year old causing his parents’ deaths? He sounds downright manipulative, the way that letter is written!”

Petunia shook her head. “He must want to do something with the boy,” she fretted. “Vernon, please, protect him. Teach him about his magical heritage – as much as you can. There’s a box in the attic, labeled ‘Lily,’ that has everything she has ever given me pertaining to that world. I would do it myself, but…” she trailed off and she got a far off look in her eyes.

“Petunia?” questioned Vernon slowly.

“Oh, love, do you think Dudders will come home? I do hope he’s okay. It’s such a shame that his doctors won’t allow visitation.”

Vernon sighed. Her clarity was gone again. He should probably notify her doctor since that was her longest moment yet. He looked down at Harry, who was still in his arms.

“Welcome to the family, Harry,” he whispered. He realized he had to go call in to work today, possibly quit. Petunia was in no way capable of taking care of Harry, so he’d have to find another source of income that didn’t have him leaving the house too often.

Knowing things weren’t going to be easy in the years to come, especially when that Dumbledore fellow turns up again looking for Harry to be a certain way. Vernon decided to raise Harry as his own. He belated wondered how to go about getting him legally adopted.

He’d have to do that soon, or else he’d have no claim to Harry should the time come when someone else wanted him.


	2. A Visitor from Hogwarts

Nearly ten years have passed since Harry Potter was left on the Dursley’s doorstep. He had been adopted shortly after, but Vernon decided to allow Harry to keep his family name to honor his parents’ sacrifice.

Today, the little family was at Petunia’s therapist’s office. Vernon has his biannual meeting with the man to update him about Petunia’s condition. From what Harry could hear through the slightly opened door, her bouts of clarity were getting longer and more significant. The doctor thought she would be better soon.

Harry leaned back in his chair and glanced at his aunt sitting next to him. She had a faraway look in her eyes like usual. He looked away, thinking about the past few years. Uncle Vernon was getting sadder each day, it seemed. He really wanted Aunt Petunia better, but he had no idea what he could do.

Harry wanted to help, too. He really did, but he was only turning eleven in a few weeks. There didn’t seem to be anything he _could_ do.

Well, there was always Hogwarts, but was there a way for him to fix people’s minds with magic? Harry had no idea. He didn’t want to hurt his aunt any more than she already was. She was getting a little better slowly. There were moments of clarity that Harry wouldn’t risk giving up.

Harry remembered the first time she talked to him while she was clear.

He was six and Vernon had gone out for some groceries. Harry was straightening the sitting room so he could get dessert that night. He had a few chores, mostly cleaning up after himself, and if he did them all, he would get dessert.

Harry had just been finishing up when Aunt Petunia wandered into the room. She had looked directly at Harry, something she had never done before. “You,” she had whispered. “You look familiar.”

“My name’s Harry, Aunt Petunia,” Harry said, putting the last book away. His uncle had told him there will be times when Aunt Petunia would talk to him. There was always a chance that she wouldn’t remember him during these times.

“I’m your aunt? You’re Lily’s boy?” she asked with a pained expression.

“My mum’s name was Lily,” Harry said quietly. “Are you okay? You look hurt.”

“I’m fine Harry,” she said quickly. “Where’s Vernon?”

“At the store.”

“Oh.” The two stared at each other for a few moments. “Harry, have you met a man with a long white beard and a funny name?” Harry thought and shook his head. “When you do, Harry, promise me that you won’t listen to him. He likes to lie a lot.”

Harry frowned. “Why lie? Lying is bad!”

“I know, Harry. That’s why you shouldn’t listen to him. Promise me, okay?”

“I promise.”

“Good,” Petunia said. “Lily loved you, you know?”

“I know,” Harry said quietly. “Uncle Vernon showed me the letters she sent you. I wish I could remember her.”

Petunia smiled sadly. “I’m sure she would be proud of you. I’m sure she will always be proud of you, no matter what you do.”

Then, Petunia got that faraway look again and left the room, mumbling about Dudley.

She had had a few moments like that with Harry since. Each time, she explained more and more about Lily and magic. She answered quite a few of his questions about his mother.

Harry pulled out the picture Uncle Vernon allowed him to keep. He was not supposed to take it out in public places, but the only ones here were him and his aunt, so he figured it was safe. The picture was moving. It showed his mum and a boy with shoulder-length black hair. They were both in robes. They looked to be chatting and laughing.

Harry really wondered who the boy was, but his uncle had no idea. Harry knew it couldn’t be his dad. He had seen other pictures with his dad and this boy could not possibly have been him. “Who are you?” Harry whispered with a frown.

“His name is Severus Snape.”

Harry started and jerked his head to the right. His aunt was looking at the picture. “What? You knew him?”

Aunt Petunia nodded slowly. “He lived up the street from us. He was the one to tell Lily what she was. They were best friends, however…” she trailed off and frowned. “She suddenly stopped inviting him over after her sixth year at that school. Something happened, but she never told me what. Instead, she started inviting your dad and his friends over. I disliked them more than I disliked Snape. They were very loud and sometimes obnoxious. Well, not all of them.” Petunia shook her head. “What I don’t understand is that she hated them for several years, but then suddenly had a change of heart.”

Harry frowned and looked back at the picture. This boy was his mum’s best friend. Harry had to find him.  He was a connection to his mother, a connection that wouldn’t only appear occasionally. Quickly, he turned to his aunt. “Aunt Petunia, do you know how to contact hi—” Her faraway look was back.

Harry looked away. He hoped Uncle Vernon would finish his meeting soon, so they could go back home. He had already read the few wizarding textbooks Aunt Petunia had in her attic. Apparently his mum had sent them to her in hopes that Aunt Petunia would want to join her one some outings in the magical world. They mostly explained culture and laws and other would-be boring things. Harry found them fascinating and a necessity. He didn’t want to accidentally break any laws when he entered the Wizarding World because he didn’t know there _was_ a law.

He looked up sharply when the door opened all the way and quickly hid his picture.

“Thank you for coming today,” the therapist said, shaking Vernon’s hand. He turned to Petunia. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Petunia.” He glanced at Harry before going back into his office.

“Okay, let’s get back home, Harry,” Vernon said, helping Petunia stand. “What do you want for breakfast?”

Harry shrugged and then asked, “Why do we always have to come here so early? The sun has just come up.”

Vernon chuckled. “I’m not sure, but I think the doctor is very busy and this is the only time he could schedule us in. We haven’t complained so he hasn’t changed it.” Harry grumbled quietly. “We should check the post; maybe your letter will be there.”

Harry’s eyes lit up. He grinned. His eleventh birthday was soon, so he would get to go to Hogwarts! He just couldn’t wait! He _has_ to find the library as quick as he could once he gets there. He didn’t want to make a fool of himself. “Oh, I hope it’s there!” Harry said happily, nearly bouncing on his way to the car. 

* * *

Harry jumped from the car, swiping the keys from his uncle. He bounded to the front door and unlocked and opened it. He slipped inside and picked up the letters on the mat. He quickly shifted through them. Moving out of the doorway, he rambled off, “Bill, postcard from Marge, and a letter for me!”

He bit his lip and tried to contain his excitement as he handed the other two items to his uncle. He stared at the green ink on the letter.

_Mr. H Potter_

_4 Privet Drive_

_The Second Largest Bedroom_

_Little Whinging_

_Surrey_

He paused at the specifics of his location before shaking his head and turning it over. There was a seal with a badger, a raven, a snake, and a lion: The Hogwarts Seal.

Feeling extremely giddy, Harry carefully removed the seal and opened the letter. He glanced up at his uncle and read the first page aloud, “Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore (Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock, Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)

“Dear Mr. Potter,

“We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment. Term begins on 1 September. We await your owl by no later than 31 July.

“Yours sincerely, Minerva McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress,” Harry finished with a slight frown.

“That doesn’t tell us anything about the Wizarding World,” Vernon said with a frown.

Harry looked to the other page. It was just a list of supplies. “How am I even supposed to get these things?” Harry looked up at Uncle Vernon in concern. “I don’t want to show up unprepared.”

Vernon pursed his lips. “How about you send a letter back? Asking for more information?”

Harry nodded and went to go find some paper. He set himself up at the dining table, thinking about how to word the letter. Eventually, he began writing.

Before putting the finished product in an envelope, Harry went and found Uncle Vernon to get his opinion. “Uncle Vernon,” Harry said, upon finding the man in the lounge.

“Yes, Harry?” the man asked, partially distracted by the horrid bills.

“I finished the letter and wanted to know if it sounded okay,” the boy murmured, handing the letter off to the older man.

Uncle Vernon set down the bill and took the letter.

_Deputy Headmistress Minerva McGonagall or To Whom It May Concern,_

_My name is Harry Potter and I have just received my Hogwarts letter. I would be honored to attend your school, but I am saddened to say that I have no way of getting the supplies on the list. If it would be at all possible, could more information about how to get the supplies be sent? And, if it would not be a burden, could more information about the school itself be sent with it?_

_Harry Potter,_

_Student Looking Forward to Hogwarts_

Vernon nodded and said, “Yeah; that looks okay. I hope they will still be able to get it even though we send it through the regular post.”

“I hope so, too,” Harry murmured, putting the letter in the envelope and sealing it. In place of a delivery address, he wrote ‘Hogwarts’ School of Witchcraft and Wizardry’ and sent it off. 

* * *

Nothing extraordinary happened for the rest of that day. But the following day, things got interesting. 

* * *

 

Professor McGonagall made her way up the familiar street. She hadn’t been there for nearly ten years, but it still looked exactly the same. Nothing was out of place or strange. All the houses were perfectly aligned with their perfect gardens displaying their perfect flowers. It was quite unsettling for one who spends the majority of their time in the magical world.

She walked up to the house with the four next to its door and paused. She caught a nosy neighbor looking at her curiously and was thankful she knew how to dress appropriately in the muggle world, being the liaison with the muggleborns.

She knocked briskly on the door and waited for it to be answered. A young boy opened the door and stared at her. “Hello,” he greeted politely.

“Mr. Potter, I presume?”

Harry blinked. “Yes,” he replied slowly and glanced back into the house.

“Are your guardians home?”

“Uncle Vernon is here,” he said, still not letting the woman into his house.

She nodded and said, “My name is Minerva McGonagall; I have come from Hogwarts.”

Harry’s eyes widened. He hadn’t expected someone to come! He had thought they’d simply send a letter back. “Oh! Uh… come in! I’ll just go get my uncle!” He ran off.

McGonagall closed the door behind her and waited in the entry hall. She looked around and found that pictures were scarce. The few that were there were of Harry. He appeared to be winning something in every one. Curious.

She looked over when a man who was a bit on the heavy side walked into the room, Mr. Potter trailing behind him. The man introduced himself as Mr. Vernon Dursley, Harry Potter’s uncle. “You said you were from Hogwarts?” he asked curiously.

McGonagall nodded curtly. “I am here because Mr. Potter requested more information.”

Vernon looked surprised. He hadn’t expected a representative of the school to show up. “Well, please, take a seat. Would you like any tea?”

“A spot of Earl Grey would be lovely,” she said a bit tightly. Harry hurried into the kitchen to fetch it for you. “Do you have any questions?” she asked Vernon once he sat down across from her.

“Oh yes, I have several, but I’m sure Harry has the same and I don’t think it would be polite to have you repeat yourself.”

McGonagall hummed and they waited for Harry to return in silence. He came back a several minutes later carrying a platter with the kettle, tea leaves, milk, sugar, cups, mixing spoons, and a couple tea bags just in case she preferred those. He set it down on the coffee table. “Um… how do you have your tea?” he asked sheepishly.

“I can fix it myself,” she said kindly. James Potter never would’ve asked someone that. Perhaps he had a bit more of Lily in him. “Now, I’m sure you have questions,” she stated plainly. “I think it best for you to ask them and I’ll give you as much information as I can.”

Harry nodded, nearly bouncing in his seat. “What do we learn at Hogwarts? I mean, from the supply list, I was able to figure out that there would be potions, magical history, magical theory, Transfiguration – whatever that is, and um… something to do with magical creatures. And I guess something with the stars? There was a telescope…”

McGonagall looked surprised and a bit put out. She cleared her throat. “That is a very good observation, Mr. Potter. Yes, the classes are Potions, History of Magic, Transfiguration, Herbology, Defense against the Dark Arts, Astronomy, Charms, and Flying for First Years. There are a few subjects that can be chosen as you get older, but these are the classes you will be attending. Would you like me to expound on any of those?”

“What’s Transfiguration? And Herbology? I can figure it has something to do with plants, but… The rest are all self-explanatory. Well, Flying, do you mean on brooms?”

“Isn’t that a bit dangerous?” Vernon asked suddenly.

“Transfiguration is a branch of magic that focuses on changing the appearance of an object on a molecular level. The muggle equivalent of Herbology would be botany, do you know what that is, Mr. Potter?”

Harry nodded. It had been mentioned in a book he had read at the library. He found out what it meant, but decided not to further study it. It didn’t seem likely that some sort of plant could help his aunt. “And now to Flying,” McGonagall frowned slightly. “Yes, it can be a bit dangerous, but that is why the students are being instructed. And yes, Mr. Potter, I do mean on broomsticks. There is a way to fly simply with the use of your magic, but the colleague of mine who has figured out how to do it refused to tell me. Anyway, there is a sport that is extremely popular at Hogwarts. It’s called Quidditch, and is played on broom sticks.”

She moved to continue, but Harry stopped her as politely as he could. “With all due respect, ma’am, I don’t think I’ll be spending my time at Hogwarts playing games.

McGonagall frowned again. “Your father was an excellent Quidditch player. There are many student anticipating your coming to Hogwarts. They hope you would play.”

It was Harry’s turn to frown. “But why? There is a chance that I’m not any good.”

“But your father was a natural.”

“So?”

McGonagall sighed and decided not to push the issue. “Do you have any other questions?”

“Where can I get the items on my supply list?”

“There is only one place in Wizarding Britain to get supplies and that’s Diagon Alley.”

“Diagon… Alley? Diagonally? What’s with the silly name?” Vernon asked, somewhat bemused.

McGonagall simply shrugged while fighting down a smile. “I’m not quite sure. But, to get to Diagon Alley, there is a little pub on Charing Cross Road between a bookstore and a record shop called the Leaky Cauldron. Muggles can’t see the Leaky Cauldron, so it is perfectly safe.”

Harry looked to his uncle. “Do you know where that road is?”

“Yup.”

McGonagall nodded. “Good. To get into the Alley, you go into the pub and ask the bartender Tom to let you in. He’ll lead you out the back and tap a single brick with your wand. From the trashcan, it is 3 up and 2 across. You best remember that should you ever wish to reenter the alley on your own, Mr. Potter.”

“Three up and two across form the trash, got it,” Harry nodded.

“Anything else you’d like to know?”

“Is there a bookstore in Diagon Alley? And a library at Hogwarts?”

“Yes to both of those. Flourish and Blotts is the name of the bookstore,” McGonagall replied.

Harry nodded, looking quite happy. He quickly assessed all his other questions, finding that the majority of them could be answered through books. There were a couple left though. “How do I get to Hogwarts?”

“By train. Oh, that reminds me,” said McGonagall, reaching into a pocket. She pulled out a ticket. “This is your train ticket.”

Harry frowned. “Where’s platform 9 ¾?”

“Directly between Platforms 9 and 10 at Kings Cross Station. There is a wall separating the two. You must run straight at it, or walk if you prefer, but most students run.”

“Can muggles get through?” Harry asked, glancing at his uncle.

“Yes,” McGonagall said softly, realizing what Harry wanted.

“Good, I’d rather say my goodbye just before getting on the train.”

“Anything else?” McGonagall asked quietly.

“Well, there is this one thing,” Harry trailed off. He didn’t know if he should ask this. I mean, what were the chances this woman knew the man who was his mother’s best friend? What were the chances he was even still alive? They had gone through a war.

“What is it, Mr. Potter?”

Harry looked up at her sharply. No. He’d find the man himself. “I was just curiously how the war ended,” he said quickly.

McGonagall took a sharp breath. “What do you know about that?”

Harry frowned. “All I know about the war was that my parents died protecting me.”

McGonagall looked horrified. She looked to Uncle Vernon. “The letter form Dumbledore…”

“That was all it told us,” Vernon said, leaving out the man’s order.

“But…” McGonagall said, looking like she didn’t know what to say. She eventually turned to Harry. “Mr. Potter. In the Wizarding World, you are famous.”

“What? Whatever for?”

“The war was fought with, as usual, two sides. The Light Side led by Albus Dumbledore, and the Dark Side led by a man… a man everyone refers to as You-Know-Who.”

“Well, what was his name then?”

McGonagall looked pained. “It was… Vol…” she paused and took a deep breath. “Voldemort.”

“Flight of Death?” Harry deadpanned. “He doesn’t sound too scary. If anything, it sounds like _he’s_ the one who’s afraid.” McGonagall stared at him. “What? Did I get the translation wrong?” he glanced up at his uncle. Harry had only just started looking through some English to French books. Since French was another well-known language, he had decided to learn it in case he came across a book written in the language that he might need.

“No, you didn’t,” McGonagall said with a small frown. “When you put it like that… he doesn’t sound as terrifying. Anyway, he was a horrible wizard who killed hundreds of people, muggle and magical. On Hallowe’en of 1981, You-Know-Who went looking for the Potters. He found your house and killed your parents. But, for some reason, he couldn’t kill you. Instead, we speculate, that his magic rebounded and hit him instead.”

Harry blinked. “So… I’m famous in your world for getting rid of a Dark Lord?” Harry groaned and rubbed his forehead. That would certainly be inconvenient. He shook his head. He needed to focus on something else. He looked to the end table and saw his supply list. “How much are these supplies going to cost me?” he asked warily.

McGonagall raised an eyebrow at him. “That shouldn’t be a problem.”

“Why not? Did I get a scholarship or something?”

McGonagall spluttered. “Y-you’re rich, Mr. Potter!”

“What? No, I’m not!”

“Yes, your parents left you a vast fortune.”

“Well, this is the first time I’ve heard of it.”

“But,” she said in confusion. She looked to Uncle Vernon again. “Albus told me he’d give you Mr. Potter’s Gringotts key.”

Vernon blinked. “I never got any key.”

 “What?” she breathed in horror. She _knew_ the goblins gave him the key. If he didn’t give it to the Dursleys… She didn’t want to think about it! “Well, what about your wife?” she asked, suddenly remembering the woman.

Vernon and Harry suddenly looked uncomfortable. “Petunia isn’t… in any condition… to be looking through mail,” Vernon said after a few seconds of silence.

McGonagall wanted to know more, but she knew better than to pry. But that could only mean Albus still had the key. He wouldn’t be using it, right? She sighed and looked at Harry. “Mr. Potter, when you go to Diagon Alley, the bank, Gingotts, is there. It is a big white marble building. Go up to one of the goblins and ask them to perform a blood test. Then, once it is confirmed that you are indeed, Mr. Potter, ask them to revoke all keys handed out after October 30, 1981.”

“Okay, I will,” Harry said. “But can I ask why?”

McGonagall sighed. “I fear someone might be stealing your money. It is simply a precaution.”

“Well, what about the keys handed out before then?”

“I’d hope they were sent to the right place.”

“Can the goblins check that?”

McGonagall blinked. “I’m sure they could.”

“Okay, I’ll tell them to do that too.”

McGonagall nodded. She then looked at her watch. “I must be off, Mr. Potter. There are a few other children and their families I must see today.”

“Oh, well it was a pleasure meeting you. I hope to see you at Hogwarts.”

“Indeed, Mr. Potter.” And she was gone.

Harry turned to his uncle. “Who do you think was stealing from me?”

Vernon sighed. “I think it might be Dumbledore.”

“The Headmaster?” Harry gasped. “But why?”

Vernon frowned. “I don’t know, Harry. He left you here with the order to beat you.” Vernon looked at Harry’s wide eyes. “Obviously, we didn’t listen. I think… I think he doesn’t have your best interests in mind, Harry. Avoid him as much as you can.”

Harry nodded vehemently. He then paused. “What does he look like?”

“He has a long white beard, and is very old, but that’s all I know.”

“Aunt Petunia told me not to listen to a man with a long white beard and a funny name. She said he lies a lot.”

Vernon nodded. “She is right.”


End file.
